


Solas' Spirit

by RedInkOfShame



Series: Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, One Shot, POV Solas, does it count as fluff if it's not a romantic relationship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedInkOfShame/pseuds/RedInkOfShame
Summary: Prompt: If you’re having writer’s block, I don’t know, write a story about Solas owning a cat, or something.This is a story about Solas getting owned by a cat, or something.   It was impressive, really. The cat hardly seemed to do more than shift its weight, effortlessly retaining its curled-up position on the seat despite the forty-five degree tilt. Solas angrily shook the chair, but the animal just pushed back its ears and sunk in its claws, damaging the fabric (one of the many reasons he had no wish for a pet).Edit: I commissioned some art work for this story! <3 Check it out!





	

**Author's Note:**

> You can get an idea of what the cat looks like [here](http://redinkofshame.tumblr.com/post/151131279045/solas-vs-cat), and what inspired me to fill the prompt this way [here](http://redinkofshame.tumblr.com/post/151150608550/bigbardafree-foreveralone-lyguy-i-walked).

Hands clasped behind his back, Solas surveyed his new home. Though the house was new, and built nestled into the mountains, it was designed similarly to a loft apartment—clean lines, high ceilings, and bare concrete walls. It had an elevated space to serve as his bedroom, and an abundance of natural light streaming in from the large skylights and a wall of windows that faced the river.

He’d sent the movers ahead of him, taking his time crossing the country while they made sure his possessions arrived on time and intact. Now, he was faced with cardboard boxes and a fresh start.

A new home, a new city, a new career; he wasn’t looking to escape his past, precisely, but the change felt good. Hopefully it would put his troubled mind to ease. It was a bit of a commute to the city, to be sure, but it was a pleasant drive and the views were well worth it.

He set to work; might as well make the most of the daylight to unpack. He moved steadily, prioritizing the necessities he’d need within the next few days: clothing, cooking supplies, toiletries. After that, though, he eagerly made for an entirely frivolous box: his art supplies. Well, one of his many boxes of art supplies. This one held a special purpose, a home for the items needed to work on a long awaited project—a fresco that would cover the entire wall opposite of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Solas had always wished to create a proper fresco; he’d done murals, of course, simple paint on walls, but a real fresco was something entirely different. He’d mix pigment with plaster so that the color was a part of the wall, not simply sitting on the surface. For now, though, he must wait—it needed a base coat or three first, to insure proper adhesion to the cement. If done properly, the images he gave form to in his new home would last as long as those found in ancient ruins.

He worked tirelessly, wielding trowel and plaster for hours, stopping only to hunt outlets and light switches as the day grew dark. As he worked, transforming grey into an expanse of white, he occasionally heard scratching noises from outside—he surmised it was likely a tree branch extending to rub against his house, and wasn’t particularly concerned about trimming it back at the moment.

At the end of the day he had a thin, even layer of plaster to show for his efforts, as well as a ruined set of clothing and aching muscles. He stood near the windows, supporting one elbow with his hand, his other hand held thoughtfully against his chin as he surveyed his work. He could clearly picture the piece to come, every color and line mentally planned long ago in anticipation of this moment. With a content smile, he climbed the stairs to his bed.

~~~~~

Solas slept deep and dreamlessly that night, sinking pleasantly into his plush bed and bedding. When he awoke, however, the tightness in his back and the ache of his joints were much more prominent. He rose with a sigh, rubbing a hand down his face as he planted his feet on the cold floor.

A scalding hot shower did wonders for him. He washed away the dried sweat and plaster from the day before. The heat beating down on him loosened his muscles, and the water cleared his head. By the time he wrapped a towel snuggly around his hips—skin soft, damp, and reddened—his spirits were lifted once more.

That is, until he passed through the loft, on his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He stopped to examine his handiwork in the full light of the morning when he noticed something out of place in the corner of his eye. Startled, he turned toward the creature curled up on one of his dining chairs.

That was not his cat.

For a second he worried it was some more fearsome form of wildlife, but no—it was simply a house cat, in the wrong house entirely. It was scrawny with blue eyes in a gaunt, wedge-shaped face. Its fur was mostly white, with light grey around its face, ears, paws, and tail. And it was blinking lazily at him as if it belonged there.

“How did you get in here?” he asked of it, foolishly. It meowed in response, as if that helped at all. Cautious, Solas made a sweep of the rest of the house, though he was entirely unsure what he was looking for—an open window? The cat’s owner? Some sort of cat burglar who took a literal feline with them on their capers? In any case he found nothing except a pair of angled blue eyes now watching him curiously.

He strode to the large glass door that opened to the deck facing the river, opening it as wide as it could go. “However you got in, you may see yourself out now. You are not welcome here.”

The cat meowed again from its seat, unmoving. Solas walked towards it. “I might think you belonged to the previous owners, were there any, but this house was built for me only months ago; you have no claim to ownership.”

He was met with more meows. Did the cat think this was open for discussion? Solas stood behind the chair, so that he was not between the irksome creature and the door, and scowled down at it. “It is not a matter for debate. Go!” He pointed towards the door.

This time the cat didn’t deign to reply. Solas has no desire to touch the thing—it was unlikely to be rabid, but it was certainly dirty. He grabbed the corners of the chair and tipped it forward forcefully. “Scat!”

It was impressive, really. The cat hardly seemed to do more than shift its weight, effortlessly retaining its curled-up position on the seat despite the forty-five degree tilt. Solas angrily shook the chair, but the animal just pushed back its ears and sunk in its claws, damaging the fabric (one of the many reasons he had no wish for a pet).

He set down the chair before more harm came to it. “Your spirit is admirable,” he granted. The cat responded by vigorously cleaning itself, as if to rid itself of the indignity of the encounter. It likely thought it had won. It had not.

Solas hoisted up the chair and carried it to the door. He tried not to think of how foolish he must look, marching in nothing but a towel as he carried a cat around like a king in his litter. Solas set the chair down just outside the door, which he then slammed shut behind him.

After he dressed himself, a quick glance told him that the cat was still on the chair, seemingly resting peacefully. Solas harrumphed and made himself breakfast. When he sat down to eat it, however, he spied his unwanted visitor alternating between staring at him and staring at his food. He felt the familiar weight of guilt in his stomach. The cat was very thin… But he was not going to feed it. If he did, the cat would never leave. It clearly had some means of survival, if it had lived this long alone. Solas went to the door and closed the blinds.

The next hour he spent uncovering his couch, locating his laptop, and checking his email. When he was satisfied that his correspondence was taken care of, he decided that he’d need to make a trip into the city today, for groceries. After gathering his things, just before leaving, he peeked between the blinds on the back door.

The cat was already looking at that exact spot, as if it knew exactly when and where Solas would check on him. Solas glowered and left. At least if the beast was out back it wouldn’t be able to sneak in the garage as he pulled his car out. 

It was gone when he returned.

~~~~~

Solas let his wall cure for several days. Just one would likely be sufficiently dry enough to be worked on, but it was safer to be patient. Still, when the weekend was upon him, he equipped his paint-covered clothes once more. This time when he climbed the ladder it was with coarse-grained sandpaper in his hand.

Shoulders strained from reaching, back aching from awkward positions, legs burning from constant climbing and repositioning of the ladder, he stopped for lunch after only a couple hours work; he needed the break. He rinsed the fine white dust from his hands, but didn’t bother with any more cleanup than that. As he prepared his meal and contemplated whether it was worth the added time and expense to erect scaffolding, he heard now-familiar scratching as his back door. The blighted cat was back!

The blinds were raised, so he dared not to spare a glance in that direction; he was afraid any reprimand would just encourage the creature. There was no telling how long it had been there, inaudible over the sound of Solas’ own scuffing. He resolutely ignored it as he ate his lunch. 

He attempted to do much the same as he opened his laptop, but the noise from the door was so distracting that he couldn’t focus on his research. He wouldn’t do the curation of the museum any credit at this rate. Perhaps he didn’t need a break after all—he’d rather listen to the sound of sandpaper. 

The white noise worked to drown out the rest, for a time. He was so focused on his work, almost meditative, that he forgot all about the cat. He also forgot to avoid looking at it. He finished a section and sat back on the top of his ladder, gazing around his house until he locked eyes with the thing.

It meowed. _And did not stop_. Solas turned his back, but the cat meowed incessantly. Long, plaintive mewling serenaded him until he felt the blossoming of a headache between his eyes. He dropped down to the floor and grabbed his laptop, hoping that playing some music would help the situation. 

It only seemed to provide encouragement for the cat, which now howled and yowled as if pursued by demons and the house was the last bastion of protection. Determined as he was, this spirited menace could no longer be ignored. Solas went to the back door and slammed it open. 

“Shut. Up.” he snarled at the furry nuisance. 

The cat quieted, but only out of curiosity. When it made as if to meow once more, Solas stepped aggressively onto the deck. He made it only two pounding steps before the cat turned tail and ran.

~~~~~

Solas thought perhaps he’d scared off the cat for good. He was wrong, of course. Scarcely a week later he had just finished the second coat of plaster. This one would need quite a while to dry, especially with how humid the weather had been. Fall was settling in, and it was proving to be quite a rainy season. He’d picked up the habit of opening his doors when the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in, to let in wind laden with scents of wet bark, earth, and foliage. This time, when he reached for the handle, he hesitated. Outside was the cat, giving him what otherwise could be called ‘puppy dog eyes’ as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“I will not be letting you in simply because it is raining,” he informed the cat, who meowed meekly in response. Solas did not open the door.

Solas arranged a fire in the fireplace—it would require far too much energy to heat the whole house, due to the open space and plentiful windows, so he opted instead for regular fires and a cozy bed. When he was done the rain had begun to fall in earnest, and he was still being watched piteously.

From his comfortable spot on the couch, he called, “You could at least find shelter under the deck instead of atop it, if you insist on hanging about.”

Its mouth opened in response, but Solas couldn’t hear the meager meow escape it. The cat was being pelted by rain, but made no move to leave.

Solas scanned his home—he’d finished unpacking long ago, the plaster and drop-cloths were put away, everything was in its place. How much harm could the beast do? He went to the back door and opened it, expecting the cat to dart in. Instead, it looked up at him with those giant eyes in a too-narrow face. 

“I am not letting you in, per say; I enjoy listening to the rain, and I’m not going to allow you to ruin it for me. The door will remain open, for now.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, intent on making himself a sandwich for dinner. He was not going to spend every minute following a cat around. When he went to the kitchen, though, he realized that he was straining his ears trying to track its movements, worried it would get into something it shouldn’t. For now, it shook the water from its feet and seemed to be tentatively sniffing every corner of the room.

He did his best to ignore it, until it was staring at him as he sat down in front of the fire. At least it would be warm, if it stayed near him. It really was thin, for a cat… He pulled his laptop over, and after a quick search confirmed that his lunchmeat was safe, he ‘accidentally’ let some of it fall from his sandwich. Let the cat think it was sneaky, and not that Solas was benevolent.

The cat inhaled the piece, though, and intently watched Solas for another one—Solas, not the sandwich. He sighed, and pulled out another slice, and continued to share until the sandwich was gone. When the cat wandered away again, disappointed, Solas curiously returned to his computer. He was unfamiliar with the correct search terms, but after a few tries was able to identify the breed of cat he was dealing with. 

“You deceived me!” he accused the lilac-pointed Balinese cat that was somewhere in the room. Looking around for it, he added, “You’re not underweight at all, you’re _supposed_ to look—get away from there!”

The white cat spun its head, whining loudly and looking guiltily over its shoulder at Solas. It had been peering up at the wall, as if it spotted something of interest at the top. It was on its hind legs, one front paw sunk firmly into the wet plaster for balance. Solas jumped to his feet and the blighted creature took off, every fourth step leaving a white smudge on his reclaimed-hardwood floors as it ran out the door.

With a grumble and a sigh, Solas firmly shut the doors and fetched a damp rag and a polishing cloth for the trail on his floor. ‘How much harm’ indeed. When that task was finished, he checked his fresco wall to see how much fixing it would take. He saw only a single mark marring the blank surface, just one perfectly shaped paw print about a foot off the ground, near the edge of the piece. It would be a simple enough task to fill it in, yet… It did have a certain charm to it. Maybe he could incorporate it into the piece. If not, he could always repair it later.

~~~~~

The excursionary trip inside Solas’ house must have satisfied the cat’s curiosity. His worry that the cat would keep returning if fed was proving unfounded. Several weeks had passed and he hadn’t seen it again. It was for the best, of course; it likely had found a real home somewhere else. He did purchase some cat-friendly food to keep around, just in case. So that Solas could eat his own food in peace, the next time, not out of any sort of responsibility. Solas considered leaving some out on the deck, in case the cat came by while Solas was not home, but with the squirrels and raccoons and the like it was probably best that he didn’t.

Over the weeks his canvas had dried and been re-sanded—this time with a fine-grained paper—and dusted thoroughly. Solas was finally able to start the creative part of the work, the real piece. At long last he lightly traced lines of charcoal over the smooth surface, plotting out where each element belonged.

Years he’d thought of this project, looked forward to this time, but now that it was here… He stood back near the windows, hands on his hips, examining his work. He couldn’t tell if it felt right or not. If it was as he’d picture. Truth be told, he could not think clearly at the moment. A former colleague of his had contacted him that day, and with that small gesture the bubble he’d built in his mind around his new life burst and his past came sweeping back in. 

He let in some fresh air, sharp and hinting of the harsh winter to come. Forsaking his project for a snifter of brandy, he settled down in front of the fire and permitted his punishing thoughts free reign—trying not to think about unpleasant things only seemed to make them worse. 

It wasn’t as if there was anything he could do about any of it now. What was done was done. If he could turn back time, do everything all over again… But he could not.

He sat, before the fire, hunched over his knees, shifting the ice in his glass. People were dead, because of him. Hundreds, at least. Likely to be many thousands more. His discovery, a decade of research and devotion to curing a disease that had plagued the elves for lifetimes… He remembered how proud he had been, how cocky, how sure.

He poured himself a second glass, ashamed at his own naiveté. He never should have lost sight of the fact that all of his data, including his cure, belonged to Evanuris Inc. He knew they’d use it for profit, of course—they’d spent millions on research, outrageous copays were to be expected. But to turn it over to another lab, turn it into a weapon?

A weapon sold to Orlesian government. The threat of biological warfare held over the Elven countries, to keep them in line, complacent, obedient. To… 

Something nudged his hand. Looking down, he saw the white cat, purring and nuzzling him. “There you are, Spirit. I was beginning to worry about you.”

The cat replied with an apologetic meow. Solas wiped the moisture from his eyes and went to take another drink, only to find that his glass was already empty again. He set it down the coffee table, and Spirit mewed again. 

“Don’t worry about me; I will endure, as I must.”

His hand was being prodded insistently, so Solas complied and stroked the cat’s silky fur, which was cleaner than expected. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as Spirit leaned so vigorously into his palm, or the finger scratching beneath their chin. They never seemed to tire of the attention, their considerable focus dedicated to winding around Solas’ legs again and again. He lost track of the time he spent like that, lavishing affections on someone so clearly starved of it.

Solas must have dozed off, for only embers remained of the fire when he woke laying on the couch, the armrest an uncomfortable pillow. Spirit’s unfamiliar weight was pressing down on his chest, where the cat was curled up and purring contently. Solas gave them a quick pet before gently saying, “Up. It’s time to get to a proper bed.”

Solas rose and Spirit hopped off. Solas quickly made to the door, already missing the cat’s warmth; the entire house had gone icy cold. This time, when he closed his door, his cat remained inside.


End file.
